


If at first you don't succeed...

by hipbonesofChrist, mr_quartermaster



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, 00Q Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2020-2021, Banter, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Hurt James, Hurt Q (James Bond), Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29701674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hipbonesofChrist/pseuds/hipbonesofChrist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_quartermaster/pseuds/mr_quartermaster
Summary: All James wants is to go away on a romantic escapade with his Quartermaster, but the entire universe seems to be conspiring against them and their much desired date. Not to mention the fact that Q is running low on patience.Who will win this one? A stubborn Double-Oh or his poorly-timed misfortunes?Written for the 2020-2021 00Q RBB and inspired by the beautiful art of @ksansart "After the storm"
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47
Collections: 2020-2021 00Q Reverse Big Bang





	1. The Plane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrKsan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrKsan/gifts).
  * Inspired by ["After the storm"](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/766593) by Ksan. 



* * *

  
  


“A fortnight.”

“No. Are you insane?”

“Alright, then. Two weeks.”

“That’s the exact same thing!”

“It was worth a try.”

James sighed and Q shook his head with a soft chuckle, continuing to type away on his laptop while he stared at the enormous screen in front of him. For the past two days, the Double-Oh had been dropping by Q Branch with the sole purpose of trying to convince him to run away with him to Nassau on a romantic holiday. But things weren’t going exactly how he had expected them to go, really. To begin with, Q wasn’t exactly swooning and asking him to take him away and then, well… Q wasn’t exactly swooning and asking him to take him away. 

_ How dare he? _

“Ten days.” The agent insisted, raising his leg to sit on the edge of his Quartermaster’s desk only to have Q reach blindly and move his beloved scrabble mug to the opposite side of the desk in an attempt to spare it any damage.

“In your dreams.” The dark-haired man hummed, shaking his head. “I can’t just up and go. I have work to do, projects to finish and paperwork to turn in.”

Bond nearly gagged.

“It’s ten days, for the love of god. The world won’t fall apart without you.”

“You’d fall apart if I left you alone for that long.”

_ “Ha–bloody–ha.” _

“I know, hilarious.” Q spared him a glance, only to flash the blond a small and self-satisfied smirk.

He went back to work and ignored his annoying boyfriend, letting him go and pester the other engineers in Q Branch with his questions about the new equipment that had just come out of their test labs and the brand new rifles that they were working on.

“Don’t touch that!” The Quartermaster called from across the room when he spotted the blond picking up a package wrapped in newspaper that was sitting on the large mahogany desk inside his private office. He sighed and reluctantly abandoned the station where he had been working in favour of stopping the curious agent.

“What is it? A bomb?” James asked half-joking, shaking the package a bit.

“No,” Q huffed as he snatched the it away from his sticky hands, “my lunch.”

James couldn’t help but laugh for real this time. “Wow.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know you ate now.”

“Of course I eat, what are you talking about?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” 

The Double-Oh stepped forwards, stopping right behind Q as the young man rearranged everything the blond had moved on his desk, and wrapped his arms around Q’s slim waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. Automatically, the bespectacled man started to give in and relax against him, closing his eyes.

“You’ve been working non-stop for months, Q. You have to take a break.” Bond whispered into his ear, toying with the buttons of his hideous mustard cardigan.

“I don’t need it.” The young man murmured stubbornly, resting his soft hands on his lover’s calloused ones.

“No? When will you need it then?”

“When I drop dead.”

James frowned deeply, turning his head away from Q who, despite having his eyes closed, could sense that his comment had displeased the blond. The mere thought of something happening to the man he loved made him uncomfortable, even if it was just one of Q’s tasteless jokes. He had been through enough in the past to know that it didn’t take much for it to become true.

“I should let you work then.” Slowly letting go of the boffin, the agent pressed a kiss to his nape before quickly making his escape and leaving Q alone in the confines of his office. “I’ll see you at home.” He murmured as he ducked around a corner and disappeared from view before the young Quartermaster could even turn around and say something to stop him.

Q watched the empty threshold for a moment or two as he took his glasses off and cleaned them with the sleeve of his cardigan. Disappointing James like that didn’t bring him any pleasure, but simply walking away from his division and abandoning it for ten days seemed like madness. Chaos would ensue and he would be getting calls asking for help within a day of leaving London, he knew it. And M? Surely he wouldn’t allow him to just take off and disappear for ten days, even if he had never taken a single day of holidays throughout the entire time in which he had worked for the MI6.

With those thoughts plaguing his mind, Q continued to work for the rest of the day. He was distracted, the mental image of James’ sad puppy eyes keeping him from truly focusing on what he was doing and making him fail again and again.

“I give up.” Q huffed only five hours later, packing up his laptop inside his olive green messenger bag. He turned the lights off in his office and headed home, walking instead of taking the tube with the intention of having more time to think things over and getting some fresh air, well as fresh as London’s air could be.

It took him longer to get to the flat they had been sharing for the past eleven months, about an extra half an hour, but it was worth it. By the time he slowed to a stop in front of their front door and rummaged in his bag for his keys, he had managed to rearrange his thoughts in a much clearer way.

He slowly, almost hesitantly, unlocked the door and took his time opening it, sticking his right foot in first to keep the cats, or at least one of them, from running out the door.

“James?”

“In the living room.” The agent called from the couch, where he laid in his sweats and a t-shirt, watching the television with the cat that wasn’t trying to scarper laying on his chest. His cold blue eyes remained fixed on the screen while his hands stroked the cat’s curly fur slowly. He had spent the last four hours watching real crime shows on Netflix, having started with ‘Don't F**k With Cats’. However at that point, he was starting to run out of options and soon found himself halfway through Tiger King.

Q kicked his shoes off at the entrance and hung his coat on their Eames ‘Hang it all’ before walking over to his desk and setting down his bag on it. He glanced at the screen and quirked an eyebrow when he found himself face to face with the obnoxious image of a… ‘Joe Exotic’?

_ Good god… _

“What are you watching?” He asked hesitantly, approaching the couch and moving James’ feet to take a seat, only to have him set them down on his lap once he had settled down.

The agent shrugged lightly, keeping his eyes on the screen, even though he didn’t exactly look too entertained by what he was watching. What it really seemed like was that he was trying to avoid Q, it wasn’t that hard to tell. The young man sighed softly, slipping his hand underneath the blond’s sweat’s cuff and lovingly running it over his toned leg.

“Is it good?” Q tried asking instead, gently raking his neatly clipped nails down his calf.

“Not really, but Turing likes it.” James gave in and finally replied, nodding down towards the fat cat purring on his chest.

“Does he now?” The raven-haired man smiled softly, watching how his cat rubbed himself against the blond’s hand affectionately. “I think he just likes spending time with you. I don’t blame him.”

James looked down beyond the cat and fixed his piercing gaze on Q for a long moment before he sighed and looked at the screen again. “Marie was at the door waiting for you.” He murmured.

The boffin glanced at the grey korat walking leisurely by the flat’s entrance and nodded softly. “Yeah, I saw her…” The cat meowed as if on cue and he smiled warmly at her before looking at Bond again. “James?”

The agent slowly tore his gaze away from the screen to look at Q, humming softly. “Hm?”

“A week.”

“A week what?”

“We can go for a week.”

He sat upright, forcing Turing to jump down quickly and narrowly avoid hitting the coffee table. “Is this a joke?”

“No, it’s not a joke. Do you want to go or not?” Q chuckled softly, keeping his hand underneath his sweats. 

“Of course I do!” James scoffed, turning off the telly immediately to focus entirely on his dark-haired lover. “But what about M and your work?”

“I’m pretty sure they’ll still be here by the time we get back.”

The agent’s eyes lit up and he lowered his legs to the floor to be able to lean forward and kiss Q. His hand slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer and tangling his calloused fingers in the Quartermaster’s smooth curls while he deepened the kiss and Q hummed contently against his lips, his own curving into a smile. When they broke apart, James’ eyes seemed lighter.

“I’m glad I’ve persuaded you to share my point of view.”

Q gave a smirk that was almost too smug. “Only because I felt like being persuaded.”

* * *

After that, things fell into place rather easily. Much smoother than Q would have ever imagined. Even telling M and the rest of his coworkers that he’d be gone for a week went well—although, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anxiety in his gut about leaving his underlings to their own devices for that long. The feeling was only exacerbated by M’s piercing look when he asked him for ten days off, but by the time he left MI6, he found he could breathe a little easier about it.

Now, all he had to face was packing his suitcase. He was positive James would pale at the lack of summer clothing he had in his wardrobe, but quite frankly, what was the point of having drawers filled with shorts and t-shirts when he always spent the entirety of his summers buried in MI6’s underground labs?

Of course, ‘Mr. Perfectly-Tanned’ didn’t think of it that way. 

“It’s unacceptable…” James scoffed indignantly as he took a turn while driving the two of them to Heathrow in the Aston. “We’ll just have to buy you new clothes when we get there.” 

It had reached a point where it wasn’t even annoying for Q, just hilarious.

“Were you just thinking of walking on the beach in boots and checkered trousers?” Bond continued his endless rant even as they went through customs, stopping only to open his carry-on bag for the security officer and show him his MI6 credentials to justify the weapon he was carrying. 

“What’s wrong with that?” Q asked as he walked past James, for the sole purpose of getting a rouse out of him. 

“What–Q!” James scoffed. “So much is wrong with that!” He glanced over his shoulder at the snickering boffin before the customs agent crossed his arms over his chest and glared at him.

“Sir?”

“Don’t get yourself arrested before we’ve even left London.” Q teased, making James roll his eyes at him before he turned back around to face the customs agent.

“I’m dealing with a matter of international importance here, you can wait one more minute.”

* * *

James had purchased three seats in total for them, the window seat, the aisle one and the one in between, knowing just how hard flying was for Q and wanting him to be as comfortable as possible. The young man picked the window seat at first and leaned back with James by his side, making himself comfortable and checking that his seat belt was fastened appropriately about ten times before he turned to the blond.

“How long is the flight?”

James raised his eyebrows and opened his eyes slowly. “Mm… about… nine or ten hours?” He said it so nonchalantly, like he had just said one or two hours instead, and then simply shrugged and closed his eyes again. “You should try to get some sleep.”

“Mm” Only a groan left Q’s lips as he tried to process the fact that he would be stuck inside a gigantic tin can in the middle of the sky for the next ten hours. He was already starting to regret it as his palms grew sweatier and the crew neck of his graphic t-shirt tightened around his throat. “Did we at any point consider taking a cruise instead?” He asked James, watching as an air stewardess closed the plane’s door after everyone had boarded.

“It’s too late now.” The Double-Oh hummed, turning his hand upwards and offering it to the nervous wreck of a man shifting restlessly on the seat beside his. Opening his eyes and tilting his head to look at him, James smiled softly at his lover. “It’s going to be alright, Q. I’ll be right here with you the entire time.” He said, taking his hand in his own and giving it a gentle squeeze before raising it and pressing his lips to his pale knuckles.

Q squeezed back with his shaky hand and offered the agent a weak smile, doing his best to tell himself that it would truly be alright.

Oddly enough, the turbulence seemed to have a stronger effect on him than James’ words of self assurance and by the time they had spent two hours in the air, jumping about with every air current headed their way, Q simply couldn’t stand it anymore. He unbuckled his seatbelt, excused himself and sprinted to the bathroom by the cabin, nearly tripping over the straps of an old lady's bag.

"Q?" James got up, and followed him, apologising to the lady when he passed by. He knocked lightly on the bathroom door, furrowing his eyebrows in concern. "Are you okay in there?"

Sitting down in a plane's toilet, holding his head between his legs and feeling his heart beating out of his chest wasn't Q's exact definition of 'okay', but it did seem like a situation that required his most sarcastic and arsenic-laced response. "Marvelous, James. I just came in here for the view."

The agent understood that it might be better to give Q some space if he was getting in that mood—which was to say, panicky and even more sarcastic than usual. "Alright, I'll be out here if you need anything. Water or anything—just a moment." He felt a hand on his shoulder and immediately assumed it was a stewardess coming to ask him to go back to his seat, which was exactly why he was so surprised to find a middle-aged man, who lacked a ridiculous uniform, standing behind him.

"Hello" James murmured in amusement, raising an eyebrow at the man. "Can I help you?" Looking down at the man's shaky hands, he suddenly spotted the broken, duty-free bottle he was holding as a weapon, which was quite frankly pathetic in his professional opinion. "Right…"

He had to resist the urge to smile as the jittery man wrapped an arm around his neck and held the broken bottle close to his face before forcing him to turn towards the rest of the passengers and crew.

"Everyone go back to your seats! Do as I say!" The brown haired man yelled, hardly realising how unpreoccupied his hostage seemed to be. Everyone stared blankly at him, trying to decide whether what was happening was real or not and whether they should do something.

Looking left and right nervously, the man shifted restlessly and pulled James closer to him, making the Double-Oh roll his eyes. " _ Or I'll kill him."  _ James whispered his suggestion, finding himself rather amused and entertained by the entire situation. He knew he was in control and if he wanted to put an end to it, he could, so he figured he could have some fun instead of worrying.

The man looked at his hostage and did a double take before realising the passengers were still staring. "...O—Or I'll kill him!" He hurried to add.

That was when everyone began to scream in terror and chaos ensued.

"Well done, lad." James hummed, patting his arm while using his foot to keep the bathroom's door shut since Q had begun trying to open it.

"Bond? What the hell is going on out there?" He asked, banging his fist on the door.

"Oh, it's nothing." The Double-Oh hummed only to look up and notice the murderous looks he was getting from the terrorist.

"That didn't sound like nothing." Q said, placing a paper towel on the door before pressing his ear against it.

"I guess the plane is being hijacked." James answered nonchalantly, nearly giving his Quartermaster a heart attack.

" _ What?"  _

"Stop talking!" The man snapped, pressing the bottle to James' neck and turning him towards the cabin door. "Open up or I'll kill this man!"

"Is he talking about you, James?" Q started banging on the door again.

"This is starting to get boring." The agent sighed, looking over his shoulder at the shivering stewardess who was standing to his left. He winked at her before suddenly ducking, turning around and throwing a well-timed punch that knocked the air out of the hijacker and made him drop the bottle to the carpeted floor, shattering it beyond the point of usefulness.

The man stumbled back and tried to reach for a large piece of glass but James stopped him with a simple "Don't" and a chiding finger, like one would do with an animal. The terrorist stopped and considered his options for a moment, giving the agent the opportunity to kick him in the face and render him unconscious.

"They don't make them like they used to anymore." Bond clicked his tongue in disapproval, shaking his head as he brushed off his clothes. As he did that, the bathroom door finally gave in after Q slammed against it and the boffin fell face first next to the unconscious man, right in time to see all the passengers clap at James.

"What on Earth did I miss?" The dark haired man grumbled as he got up with his boyfriend’s help and looked around at the mess he had made.

"You should probably take a seat, Q. It seems like you got what you wanted and we'll be turning around after all." James said, placing a hand on the small of his back to guide him back to his seat where they would remain for another two hours until they landed back in London, safe and sound, but with a mountain of paperwork to fill in and a lot of talking to do with the police after that fiasco.


	2. The car

* * *

“How about Paris this time?”

Q, sitting on the sofa, turned and faced James with an incredulous look.

“Was our last near-death experience not exciting enough for you?”

James stood at the kitchen counter, preparing some tea for the both of them. Q had been squinting at his laptop for upwards of two hours now, and Bond was sure he’d complain of a headache, soon enough.

“I had everything under control, Q. You just couldn’t see that from in the toilet.”

The Quartermaster’s gaze grew sarcastic. “There wasn’t even a short moment when everything was out of control?”

Bond’s blue gaze was infuriatingly self-assured. “Not even a moment.” He withstood the scathing glare Q offered him without so much as blinking, and then brought two cups of tea to the living room, setting them on the coffee table. The Quartermaster went back to his laptop, tapping away at the keys. The halting, somehow soothing sound only stuttered slightly when Bond tried again.

“We wouldn’t be taking a plane this time. We’d be driving.”

Immediately, Q’s brain went to all the dangers that faced them in an automobile. While it was true, they wouldn’t be careening out of the sky and coming to a sudden stop, there were blowouts, accidents, slippery roads...carjackings. 

“Like that’s any safer.”

“It is! And we’d only be going for a week.”

“No.”

“A weekend then.”

Q gave him another one of his withering glares “You’re insufferable.”

“Come on. Don’t be a stick in the mud.” James took a seat annoyingly close to Q, leaning over to peer at his screen. If it held anything important-looking, like nuclear launch codes or migraine-inducing lines of code, James would have left the Quartermaster alone. As it was, Q was simply answering a few cursory emails.

Setting his hand on the back of the laptop, James pushed it closed. Q hurriedly pulled his hands back just in time to avoid his fingers getting pinched.

“ _Bond!_ ” Angry green eyes met significantly calmer, more smug blue ones.

“Come on, Q. You’re musically married to that bloody thing. And I feel neglected.”

Q turned his head away just in time to miss the meaningful grin Bond gave him. Even so, the agent was a master of manipulation, and the gears of Q’s mind were beginning to turn.

Paris. The so-called ‘city of love’. With _Bond_.

Q had never been one for romance, but he couldn’t deny he wanted it, at times.

Like now.

“Stop being such an arse, Q.” James was saying when Q shook himself out of his thoughts. “Drink your tea, finish your emails later.”

The Quartermaster gave a heavy-sounding sigh. “Paris or not, you’re not going to let me properly work, are you?”

James smirked. “Now you’re getting it.”

“Damn you, 007.” Q said, without any real anger in his voice. It was more like resignation—exactly what James wanted to hear.

“I suppose you might as well bother me in Paris.”

“Fantastic. I already booked a hotel.”

Q gave a huff. He hated when Bond won. “ _James_.”

* * *

And so, for the second time, Q found himself packing for a vacation he still wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to take. At least it was only for a weekend this time, he reflected as he triple-checked his laptop charger was in his bag. At least he could still wear jumpers in Paris.

“Ready yet, Q?”

The Quartermaster rolled his eyes. They didn’t even have a schedule to keep to, and Bond was still rushing him along.

“Do we have somewhere to be?”

Bond leaned in the doorway to their bedroom, that damned infuriating smile on his lips again. 

“What did you do? Schedule a dinner reservation?”

James’s smile widened very slightly.

“I wish you’d told me beforehand.” Q unzipped his bag with a huff. “That way I could have packed nicer clothes.”

“I forgot you didn’t consider a suit a staple of your vacation clothing.”

“No one does. Besides, I’m not wearing a suit. I’m just packing my nicest jumper.”

“Yes, they do. And if it’s the mustard-yellow one, I think they might actually ask us to leave.”

“Shut _up_ , Bond.” Q had, in fact, been going to pack that very sweater out of spite. He grabbed a navy one instead, cramming it into his bag just to make Bond wince at the state of his packed clothing. If he was going to be dragged to Paris, he was going to make damn sure he annoyed Bond every bit as much as the agent annoyed him. To his dismay, James still seemed in an irritatingly playful mood, and damn him, it was rubbing off on Q.

“Is a dinner all you have planned?” He asked teasingly as he slung his bag over his shoulder, purposely brushing past Bond on his way out of the room. The agent reached out, catching Q by the hip and pulling him back, staring down into annoyed, but soft green irises.

“No,” he hummed, leaning forwards slightly.

“Are you going to let me… know what else there is?” Q both loved and hated when Bond got like this—it damn near took his breath away. He leaned in as well, eyes fluttering shut in the expectation of a kiss.

Bond’s arm fell away from the Quartermaster’s waist. “Not a chance.” He stepped back, leaving Q feeling too hot, and rather grumpy.

Fine, he thought. Two could play at that game. Without waiting for Bond, he started towards the door, slipping his shoes on impatiently.

“Don’t want to be late for that dinner reservation.”

“Touchy.” The smirk was audible in Bond’s voice.

“You bloody know why.” Q retorted, slinging his bag over his shoulder and exiting the flat without waiting for Bond. As he descended the stairwell, figuring it would be faster than waiting for the elevator, he heard the apartment door close and then lock behind the agent. A moment later, Bond’s sure, steady footsteps sounded behind him. Annoyingly, he was catching up rather fast.

“I was just teasing, Q. Honestly, getting you flustered is so easy.”

“Maybe you should consider being nicer to me, Bond.” Q replied as his shoes hit the ground floor. “Unless you want your vacation in Paris to be miserable.”

“You, make me miserable?” James gave a low chuckle, which would have brought a blush to Q’s lips if he wasn’t so irritated. He held the door open for the Quartermaster. “You amuse me.”

Q exited the apartment complex, purposely shouldering past Bond as he did so. The agent rubbed his shoulder, giving a wince Q could tell was largely performative.

“That’s my bad arm.”

“You don’t have a bad arm anymore.”

Preoccupied with irritating his Quartermaster, Bond settled back against the open door. “Perhaps I’ve been faking my recovery this entire time.”

Q approached the car, scoffing lightly. That did sound like something Bond would do, after all. Rather than admitting that, however, he simply glanced back at the agent. “You’re going to set off the alarm, if you don’t close that door.” He set his hand on the handle of the car door, preparing to pull.

“Am I?” James had that mischievous look in his eyes again.

“Yes, you are.” Huffing, Q turned away from the car, beginning to make his way back to James.

That was when it all went a bit… funny.

Q felt like he was on a rickety roller coaster—he hated those, the way his thin body was bruised as the car went bumping and jostling over the tracks.

There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears. The alarm for the door must have gone off, damn James.

Why was he on the floor?

The roller coaster came to a painful stop, and he could tell he was bruised all over.

Someone was calling him. James? Probably back to bother him again. Holding that damn door open.

“Q? Q!” He was shaking—maybe the roller coaster had not yet stopped. It couldn’t have been this long, though? How much track was left?

The Quartermaster slowly attempted to open his eyes, for some reason stinging and watering. He wasn’t on a roller coaster at all, he realized, but the floor of a rather ruined apartment lobby.

_His_ apartment lobby.

James was shaking his shoulder urgently.

“Damnit, Q. Answer me!”

“Wha’...?” Blearily, Q lifted his throbbing head. He was too disoriented even to protest at James turning him over, supporting his head and neck as if he were a newborn child. “M’ not a child.”

“What? Bloody hell.” Q blinked once, twice, and the two identical 007s swimming in front of his eyes slowly merged into one. James looked only a little better than Q felt, dirt, scrapes and bruises adorning his otherwise handsome face.

“Who got you…?” Q reached up to try and touch James’s cheek. Bond, adrenaline pumping and on the defence, moved just out of the reach of his hand.

“Car bomb. You were lucky I held the door open. Otherwise you’d have gone flying through the glass.”

Q groaned, shifting slightly in James’s arms. “The fucking door...”


	3. The dinner

* * *

Bond walked into Q Branch early in the morning, swinging his access badge around in his hand while he hummed to himself on his way to Q's office. He drew everyone's attention, but having all eyes on him was something he was entirely used to and comfortable with, as a matter of fact, he got off of it, like Q always said.

Without even bothering to knock first, he opened the Quartermaster's door and let himself into the cramped office, offering his lover a charming grin when the boffin finally tore his gaze away from his screen to look up at his boyfriend. 

"Bond? I thought you didn't have to come in this morning. Did M call you in?" His attention span wasn't long enough for him to last the entire question without his eyes going back to his computer.

"No… I was wondering, though. What if we—"

Q snapped his head up, glaring daggers at James. "—Think very carefully about what you're about to say."

"I take it you're still mad about the car." The agent plopped down on the chair across from Q's with a heavy and excessively dramatic sigh, pocketing his access card.

"My two and a half million pounds prototype? No, not a chance." The Quartermaster rolled his eyes and closed his laptop.

"Let me make it up to you."

"How?" Q crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on his chair. 

"Dinner."

James furrowed his eyebrows as the raven-haired man laughed in amusement at his proposal. "What?"

"You think dinner makes up for a blown up car and a multitude of bruises and scratches?"

He did have a point…

James rubbed the back of his neck lazily and shrugged lightly. "Well, we've got to start somewhere, right? And I can promise something else after dinner…" Amazing, how his lips could twist to form such a devilish expression while looking at Q with those angelic eyes.

"I hate you so much." Q groaned, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

Bond picked up a pen from Q's desk as he chuckled softly and nodded. "I love you too, Q."

A small smirk tugged at Q's lips, an acknowledgement of just how much of a cocky bastard James was. He leaned forwards and took the pen from James’ hand just as the agent began clicking it absentmindedly. “Give me that before you blow up the entire section.”

James looked at Q and then down at the pen, his eyes widening slowly in realization.

“No…”

“Yes.”

“Is it—”

“—An exploding pen? Yes. And before you even ask, no, you can’t have it.” Q opened his drawer and chucked the pen in there before getting up and walking towards the door. 

James quirked an eyebrow curiously, watching as the boffin opened the office’s door and stood by it, clearly telling him to bugger off. “Right… Time to go.” He buttoned his jacket as he rose from his seat. “I suppose that’s a no on the dinner.”

Just as he was about to cross the door, Q stopped him, pressing his hand to the agent’s broad chest before meeting his gaze. “You can pick me up here at 7. And don’t be late.”

A bright grin illuminated James’ face and he immediately nodded, relief washing over him. “I won’t.”

“You’d better not.” Q pushed him out of his office and smiled as he shook his head, shutting the door behind him so he could go back to working uninterruptedly, at least until James showed up later to take him to dinner.

* * *

“I was thinking something in Mayfair.” James hummed, sitting across from Moneypenny outside of M’s office. He was in the habit of sitting there and annoying her when he had nothing better to do and M was busy attending important meetings.

“Where exactly?” She asked absentmindedly, writing down an address on a yellow post-it note.

“Bocconcino.” He suddenly said, leaning back on his chair as he toyed with the buttons of his navy Tom Ford jacket.

The woman across from him scrunched up her nose, tapping her delicate fingers against her desk a couple of times before she turned to James. “Didn’t you take him there last time?” She asked even though she knew the answer to that question already.

The agent found himself at a loss for a moment, wondering how Eve remembered that when he didn’t. He raised a hand to scratch the stubble growing across his jaw as he tried to remember when the last time the two had gone out together on a nice, romantic dinner had been. Huffing softly, he shrugged and straightened up, only to lean forwards and rest his elbows on the woman’s desk. 

“Perhaps. Why?”

“Do yourself a favour, Bond, and don’t take him to the same place twice in a row. Make an effort.”

“I am making an effort. Why do you think I'm here?”

Eve raised an eyebrow as she stared at him, hoping he would realise how ridiculous he sounded.

“Because you’re helpless, Bond. That’s why you’re here.” She rolled her eyes and finally reached across the desk to offer him the post-it she had been writing on.

**Pétrus**

**1 Kinnerton St**

**0207 592 1609**

The agent grabbed it and quietly read what was on it before he looked up at Eve again, waving the yellow piece of paper around. “How exactly is this place better than the one I had chosen already?”

Moneypenny’s phone buzzed by her side and she looked down at it, smiling softly to herself. “It just is, James. Accept it and move on.” She hummed and shrugged as she got up from her desk. “M just came into the building, so I suggest you run before he sees you in here doing nothing and gives you an assignment.” She pointed at the post-it, giving him a stern look. “And don’t forget to make a booking or you won’t be having dinner anywhere.”

Saluting her playfully, James got up and buttoned his jacket before leaning in to kiss her cheek. “What would I do without you, Moneypenny?”

“Lose your boyfriend?”

“Ouch. Cruel much?”

* * *

He exhaled slowly and watched the smoke from his cigarette rise to the dark skies of London while he sat outside of the SIS building, enjoying a cigarette and looking at his phone while the cold wind blew against his face, a nice change from the artificial—and at times suffocating—atmosphere down at Q Branch. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy working down there, but sometimes Q just got a bit overwhelmed. Usually a bit of fresh air and a cigarette could solve it and if that didn’t work, Bond could usually come up with a solution or an excuse to get him out of there and drag him into some of his usual shenanigans.

The raven-haired man smiled to himself, locking his phone just as the time changed from 6:59 to 7:00 and shoved the device into his pocket before getting up and heading back into the building, past security and down the elevator leading straight to Q branch where James was already waiting for him.

“I thought you had run away.” The blond who sat on the corner of his work table, just outside his office, murmured teasingly.

Q rolled his eyes, gently pushing him away from the work table. “After the last couple of times, I should.” He teased, looking up at James with a small smile. “I was just smoking outside.”

Nodding, James picked up Q’s messenger bag eagerly and gestured towards the parking lot. “Shall we? I mean, now that we've established that you really do have a dying wish.”

“A dying wish?”

Q followed him towards the car he had let him temporarily borrow from Q Branch after his own Aston Martin had been blown up just a few days ago. The agent unlocked the car and nodded in response while he looked up at him. “You keep agreeing to go out with me.” He flashed him his most charming grin before stepping into the car, leaving the boffin standing out there alone, in the middle of the parking lot. 

“Bastard…” Q sighed, stepping into the car.

As it turned out, the restaurant wasn’t nearly as far as Q had expected, but as soon as he stepped out of the car, he realised that perhaps he should’ve gone home and changed out of his mustard cardigan before even thinking of going to the Michelin starred restaurant. 

“Too late, Q.” James had told him upon receiving his request, nudging him towards the door. “We’ll miss our reservation if you go home to change now.”

“But—”

“—You look fine. Ignoring the fact that that jumper is a fashion crime.” The agent chuckled, adjusting his tie before he approached the hostess, leaving Q to roll his eyes and follow them to their table, situated by the kitchen entrance.

After sitting down, James looked his menu over a couple of times before he simply set it down on the table and looked across the table at Q, who was still attempting to figure out what a ‘foie gras and devon eel torchon’ was. The Quartermaster rubbed the back of his neck and cocked his head to the side, suddenly wishing they had actually gone to Bocconcino where he knew every item in the menu and could always just order lasagna when all else failed.

“Q?”

He looked up and pursed his lips into a small smile, realising that James had asked him a question. “Sorry, I was reading. What was it?”

“Just wondering if you’re ready to order.”

Lobster, scallops, eggs, ‘the thing’... and everything for a cost of £145 per person... Where was the pizza when one needed it? Who even made that menu?

Gordon fucking Ramsay, apparently. And who was he to argue with the ill-tempered bastard?

“The lobster sounds amazing.” Q hummed, not willing to admit his defeat even if eating something with ten legs wasn’t his definition of fun. Bond hummed in agreement and nodded, glancing down at the menu one more time before he looked up to find a waiter standing right by his side.

“Are you ready to order?”

The boffin looked up at the tall, broad-shouldered waiter who stood by them, staring intently at James. It nearly made him laugh. Had he been any closer or staring more intensely, he would’ve suggested they get a room, but James seemed entirely oblivious to the man’s demeanour. Instead the agent just ordered their food along with the appropriate choice of wine and a dry vodka martini before turning his eyes back to Q, who was trying hard not to burst into laughter.

“What?” Bond raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of water.

“Nothing.” He finally cracked and had to take a hand to his mouth to stifle a soft laugh while he shook his head. “Our waiter.”

“What about him?” James looked back at him over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“What about him? You really didn’t notice? He was basically undressing you with his eyes.”

“No, he wasn’t.” The blond scoffed while Q nodded. “He wasn’t!”

The two laughed and only stopped when the waiter approached again with their wine and they were forced to hush each other. The man popped the bottle open and poured a bit of wine into James’ glass, allowing him to taste it before pouring more.

The agent gave Q a look and raised his eyebrows playfully before taking a sip of wine. “Good.” He said, nodding at the waiter and setting his glass down so he could continue to pour. Sliding his foot underneath the table, he brushed it gently against Q’s and offered him a warm smile, glad that, for once, things were going well for them.

“I’ve been thinking—” 

“—That is never good.” Q shook his head and smirked, even as James rolled his eyes at him.

“May I speak?” The agent huffed, picking up his glass of wine and taking a sip. The Quartermaster nodded, leaning back on his seat.

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Like I was saying, I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s time you and I found another flat. I’m not saying yours is too small, but it is. Cozy is one thing, but your place is starting to border on suffocating with all four of us in there.”

Q was so surprised that he couldn’t even interject when his current living conditions were insulted. They had been practically living together for a year now and it had never occurred to him that at any point they would end up looking for another place to live together.

“Four?” He murmured distractedly, simply looking down at his glass of wine without even touching the drink, unlike James, who had already downed half his glass.

“The cats?”

“Oh… Yeah, of course.”

The waiter interrupted them to quickly set James’ martini down in front of him before walking away without a single word. The young Quartermaster reached across the table and snatched the drink right before James could pick it up, taking a big gulp.

“Yep, help yourself…” Bond muttered under his breath, watching how his drink magically disappeared in front of his eyes. “Did I say something wrong?”

No one downed vodka, gin and vermouth like water unless they wanted the burn from the alcohol going down their throat to distract them from something else, he should know.

Q shook his head, covering his mouth as he coughed softly.

“Because if I did, you should probably just tell me.” James continued. “I don’t want you to do anything that might make you uncomfortable—Q?” He stopped when he realised the young man wasn’t even listening to him. “Are you… okay?”

The Quartermaster swallowed hard, running his hands down his mustard-yellow jumper while he nodded. “God, that was bitter.” Perhaps it was the fact he hadn’t had a martini in quite a long time, but he didn’t remember them being that bad.

“That’s usually how they taste.” The blond chuckled softly, pulling the martini glass closer to him before he reached across the table for Q’s hand. “So… Is that a no to moving?” He gave him a hopeful look, raising his eyebrows slightly. “It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, but maybe we could start considering it.”

“Yeah, it’s uhm… uhm…” He reached for his glass of wine and took a couple more sips, feeling a drop of cold sweat run down the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. “A good idea… Does this taste weird to you?” 

James picked up Q’s glass of wine and smelled it before taking a sip out of it and shaking his head. “No, why?”

“I can’t feel my lips.”

“Are you drunk already?” The agent couldn’t help but chuckle, picking up the remainder of the martini, that being the olive, and popping it inside his mouth. He suddenly froze and his eyes widened as that same bitter taste Q had been talking about earlier reached his taste buds. He spat the olive out into a napkin immediately and used some wine to rinse his mouth before spitting it out onto the empty glass as well. “Bathroom. Now.”

“What?”

“Now, Q.”

“Someone’s needy.” A soft, nervous chuckle escaped the young man’s lips while he set his napkin on the table before rising to his feet. A cramp wiped the smile off his face and made him double over in pain. Just as he thought about sitting back down, he felt James’ hand around his arm, pulling him away from the safety of the table.

“Come.” The agent was insistent, he had to give him that. Despite how much of a scene the two were causing in the middle of the restaurant, Q allowed himself to be dragged to the bathroom by the Double-Oh. 

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Q murmured, holding onto the edge of the sink as if that could keep the world from spinning around him.

James glanced at him and nodded, as he pulled out of his pocket a salt shaker and a glass that he had grabbed from the table, setting them on the bathroom countertop. “You are.” He murmured, emptying the salt into the glass and filling it with water. “Drink this.”

“What?” Q was starting to look as pale as the shirt James was wearing, not to mention the fact that his breathing had grown laboured since they had left their table.

“All of it. Now.” Bond insisted, pushing the glass up towards his lips until the young man opened his mouth and downed the contents. Not even ten seconds later, Q was kneeling in front of a toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach while James watched him with concern.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who had been responsible for poisoning the martini. In any case, their rocket scientist was too busy puking his guts out to be concerned with such matters. Just as Bond reached for his phone to send Tanner a quick text and alert him of the situation, the bathroom door opened.

“Out of service.” The Double-Oh murmured, hoping the man would go away. “I said it’s—” He looked up when he saw a black jacket fall to the floor from the corner of his eyes, only to realise it was their waiter who had just stepped into the bathroom.

“Mr. Bond, you’re harder to kill than I thought.” He muttered through gritted teeth, glaring at the blond while he took his time to roll up his sleeves.

What was it with the people who wanted him dead and their timing? Usually, there was nothing he enjoyed more than a good fight to get the blood flowing, but Q seemed to think those ruined the mood and always getting interrupted was definitely starting to get annoying.

“Piss off. Make an appointment and come back tomorrow.” James cheeked him, concerning himself with Q instead.

Surprisingly, that did not work and instead the Double-Oh found himself dragged away from his sick lover, with a tie wrapped tightly around his neck in an attempt to strangle him, only a moment later. He slid his fingers between the silk tie and his neck and pulled at it before twisting to get free and as soon as he managed to, he lunged at the waiter, stumbling past the bathroom’s door with him and out onto the restaurant.

Bond pinned the waiter to the floor and landed a couple punches before the other man got a hold of a woman’s handbag and used it to hit the agent’s head. While James recovered from the blow, the waiter got up and started putting some distance between them, as well as looking around for a meat knife that would make a better weapon than a handbag.

“What are you carrying in there?”

James huffed once he managed to get back on his feet, looking at the owner of the handbag, who gasped indignantly and urged her husband to leave the restaurant with her as if the worst thing happening to her was the insult and not the two men fighting in the middle of the venue.

The man ran towards the kitchen and James chased him with his cell phone long forgotten in his pocket.

“Bond?” Tanner answered after hearing his phone ring a couple of times and looking down to see James’ name on the caller’s ID. “Bond?” All he could hear was the sound of pots and pans crashing against each other as the men stumbled into the kitchen and proceeded to beat each other up with the first thing they could find.

The waiter gripped James’ lapels, picking him up almost effortlessly and slamming him down on the fancy table set in a corner of the kitchen, where a family of four was having dinner and watching the cooks. Instead of screaming or running when the Double-Oh landed on their meal, they simply clapped excitedly.

“I didn’t know this was dinner with a show.” The woman wearing an obnoxious yellow feather boa commented.

“Me neither!” Her husband scoffed, looking down at James who was barely starting to recover his breath when the waiter returned, this time with the largest knife he could find in the kitchen.

“Bon appétit." The agent grunted softly as he caught the knife between the palms of his hands, right before it could stab through his chest. He raised his legs and pressed his feet against the man’s chest to try and push him away from him while the two struggled. 

“Bond, what the hell is going on?” Tanner asked, unable to figure out what the hell it was that he was listening to between the rustling inside James’ pocket and the rest of the noises outside. “If this is your idea of a prank—” He cut himself off after hearing the scream of a woman.

Bond had managed to push the knife and avoid getting stabbed, but it had resulted in the waiter pinning his tie to the table before throwing a punch at him. The agent tried to dodge it, but the tie kept him in place and he could do nothing but take the hit before pushing the waiter off of him and back towards the stoves. The two left an immeasurable chaos behind them as they struggled through the kitchen, throwing knives, flipping pans and tossing bowls filled with sauce until finally, the Double-Oh grabbed a large pan and used it to hit the man across the face as hard as he could.

The waiter stumbled back, taking down a cart with freshly baked bread with him when he went down. 

“That was so real!” The family sitting behind him exclaimed as they clapped excitedly once again. The agent turned slowly to look at them and shook his head, no time for that.

He rushed back to the bathroom where Q sat against the wall of the bathroom stall, his breathing shallow and labored. “You took your sweet time…” He panted, looking up at the bleeding blond who had just knelt down by his side.

James offered him a small but charming smile, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket and using it to dab at the gash on his head so the blood wouldn’t get on his face. “Even when you’re in the throes of death, you still find things to criticise me about. Amazing.”

“I know...” The young man nodded, smiling weakly at his boyfriend. “It’s a talent.”

“One of many.” Bond rolled his eyes playfully, sliding his arms under Q’s body to take him to the car where the first aid equipment was.

“Don’t even think about shocking me, Bond.” Q murmured as James pierced his pale skin with a needle so the machine in the car could begin analysing the toxin in his blood and send the data to Medical back at Six.

The Double-Oh chuckled softly, picking up his phone when he heard it ring and saw the name of the chief of Medical on the caller’s ID. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Q.”


	4. The cinema

* * *

“It’s just a film.”

“It’s never ‘just a film’ with you.”

“Come on, Q.” James groaned, teasingly snatching the boffin’s glasses after flopping onto the couch by his side. “I just want to go on a date with you.”

The young man groaned, rubbing his eyes. “We’ve already been on several dates and on every occasion it’s ended up terribly. Now give me back my glasses.”

James shook his head stubbornly, ignoring his demand. “That’s not true.”

“No?” Q scoffed incredulously. “Did our plane not get hijacked?”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Uh huh. Did our car not get blown up?”

“I guess…

“Did I not get poisoned during our last date?”

“Well…”

“James.” Q groaned and gave him a stern look, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Okay, yes! But we did get to see Gordon Ramsay call someone an ‘idiot sandwich’ in real life! That’s got to count for something… right?” James shrugged and offered his lover the most innocent of smiles, watching as the young man set his laptop on the coffee table before getting up to go make himself another cup of tea. “Nothing’s going to go wrong this time, Q. I promise.”

Q glanced at him from the kitchen, pursing his lips and letting out the softest of sighs whilst he considered the Double-Oh’s request and poured boiling water in his mug.

“It’s just a film, Q.” James insisted. “We don’t even have to buy popcorn if you think you might choke.”

“Oh my god… Fine! Just shut up already, James.” Groaning, Q stepped back into the living room, where he sat by Bond’s side. 

“It’s barely ten minutes from the flat, Q. Stop being so grumpy.” James wrapped an arm around Q, which the Quartermaster almost pushed away, but ultimately settled into. He knew it was just his nerves, making him so snappy, but he felt like a traitor even doing something so small as settling into James’s embrace. This was the same man who pestered Q about a bloody vacation, no matter the amount of times one or both of them got hurt. By now, it should have been exceedingly obvious to the agent that he or Q—most likely he—was being targeted by someone.

Although, even if James did know, would that stop him? The man was never one to back down from a challenge.

_ And you’re the idiot agreeing with him every single time _ . His own thoughts souring his mood, Q scowled.

“Let’s go after dinner.” James decided suddenly. “We won’t have to make any reservations, I’m sure there will be tickets.” He looked down at Q. “That’s a face.”

The Quartermaster treated James to a green-eyed glare. “If this date goes wrong, no more going out. At least, not until we can figure out who’s targeting us.”

James paused for a moment, seeming to consider this. The emotion in his blue irises was completely unreadable. Did he believe Q, or did he think he was paranoid? The younger man hadn’t the faintest. Even when James relented with a bemused, “Alright,” he still didn’t know.

* * *

After dinner, he met James at the door, peering through the peephole before opening it. He pretended not to see the agent roll his eyes—he had every right to be paranoid, he told himself. After being poisoned, concussed, nearly blown up and plunged out of the sky, so what if he made sure there were no suspicious men waiting outside to apprehend them?

As he pulled the door open, James gave a smirk. “All clear?”

“Screw you.”

“Maybe tonight, after the movie.” James fell into step beside Q as the thinner man made his way down the stairs. Having expected that type of answer, the Quartermaster simply rolled his eyes. Although, that wasn’t exactly the worst idea James had ever proposed to him…

As Q reached the bottom of the stairs, another wave of uncomfortable anxiety hit him, and he hesitated. If James noticed, he didn’t say a word. Q was half expecting the apartment door to blow in again, and a part of him was genuinely surprised when it didn’t.

“Are we getting a cab?” Q asked once he was standing on the sidewalk. James nudged him slightly in the direction of the cinema.

“Figured you’d feel more comfortable walking.”

For once, Q was grateful for how well James knew him.

* * *

As they reached the theatre, Q’s anxiety levels only rose. Despite the outside of the cinema looking as normal as ever, with a few stragglers milling about outside, Q just couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. He stuck close to James as the agent bought tickets for both of them—Q didn’t even see the movie they were going to—and took hold of Bond’s arm as they entered the main part of the cinema through double doors. If James thought this behaviour was odd, he didn’t comment. After all, even the Quartermaster needed contact from his significant other from time to time.

Q wanted nothing more than to settle into the cinema seat, settle into anonymity as the lights dimmed. But it seemed like Bond was determined to do this properly, and Q tried not to huff too audibly as he stopped at the concessions counter.

“What do you want, Q?” James asked smoothly. “Popcorn? Chocolate?”

_ I want to go home _ . Q thought, but didn’t say. 

“I’m fine, Double-Oh—James.” He caught himself, looking at the ground and suddenly certain that the cashier was looking at him strangely. Perhaps he’d just blown their cover.

“There must be something. Popcorn is what goes best with movies, isn’t it? We’ll get popcorn.” James answered, seemingly oblivious to Q’s distress. Someone stepped into line behind them, and the Quartermaster narrowly avoided jumping like a spooked cat. He certainly  _ felt  _ like a spooked cat.

Q never actually saw James pay for the popcorn, or take the bag off of the counter. He was too preoccupied with watching the people around them. While he was discreet, his green eyes flicked back and forth. The man standing behind him, could he be armed with a knife, ready to stab him in the back? Could the man jovially speaking with his friend a couple metres away actually be an assassin, ready to take them out once they reached the darkness of the cinema? The Quartermaster was aware his thoughts were running wild, but every attempt to relax lately had been marred by an attempt on their lives. Why should this be any different?

“Q? You’re holding up the line.” James placed his free hand on Q’s back, nudging him down the hallway that led to their movie theatre. Predictably, a few people were heading the same way. As was normal for a theatre.

So why did Q feel as if he was walking down a gauntlet that led straight to his death? His heart pounded in his ears, going faster than his staggering footsteps. And James, for all his powers of observation, only led the dark-haired man on. Didn’t he see how dangerous this was? But of course, James never saw how dangerous anything was.

After nearly tripping over people sitting at the end of the row of seats, Q’s knees knocking uncomfortably against theirs, he was grateful to be able to sit down. Even if it felt rather like he was sitting in the electric chair, ready for the switch to be flipped. James settled comfortably beside him, even wrapping an arm around Q. The younger man almost couldn’t take the feeling of Bond’s arm around his shoulders.

The lights were dim, but the previews hadn’t yet started. Q almost would have preferred if they were in pitch darkness. After all, then their attackers wouldn’t be able to see, either.

_ Unless they had night-vision goggles stashed somewhere _ .

Reflexively, the younger man turned slightly in his seat, giving everyone around them a cursory glance. There were simultaneously too many, and not enough people in the theatre. His anxiety only rose, skyrocketing to nearly unbearable heights as a group of four pushed past James and the panicking Q, crowding him and pushing against his legs and knees uncomfortably.

The lights began to dim.

Q saw something glint in the darkness, out of the corner of his eye. Maybe someone’s glasses catching the light, maybe a phone being hurriedly shut off.

Maybe the subtle shine of gunmetal.

Standing, Q mumbled an unintelligible apology to James before rushing out of the theatre. If there was an assassin in there, James would take care of them. James would be alright.

Q ran, down the hallway, out of the first set of doors, and then the second. He didn’t stop running until a few moments later, when his knees felt like they would buckle at any moment. Only then, satisfied that with his back against the wall of a building, no one could sneak up on him on the street, did the Quartermaster stop.

A blur of movement caught his eye, and his breath hitched as he looked towards it—but it was only James, looking unharmed, approaching him at a brisk walk.

“Q?”

The Quartermaster leaned against the cool brick, pressing a hand over his racing heart, as if in a vain attempt to slow it. With the potential of immediate danger now gone, he was gradually beginning to think more clearly. Or more accurately, he was gradually becoming more and more irritated at himself. He was the bloody Quartermaster, for Christ’s sake! He’d somehow managed to be calm when Silva was hacking into MI6, but he couldn’t stand going to a damn movie without feeling like he was going to be shot to death right there in his chair?

“Q.”

Q ran a hand through his now thoroughly unkempt hair, biting his lip anxiously. Beside him, James was watching him, a subtle expression of care and worry on his face.

_ His stupid, handsome face. _

Q looked over at Bond, vowing to himself that if the agent even had the hint of a smirk on his face, he would punch it off. He was surprised by the affection in Bond’s eyes, instead.

“James, I—”

“Let’s go back to the flat.” Bond’s hand brushed Q’s lightly, and then drew away. “I make better popcorn than those cinemas, anyways.”

  
  
  



	5. The flat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to remind you all that this fic was inspired by the beautiful art of @ksansart included at the ending of the fic!

* * *

They stepped out of Tesco a couple hours after the sun had set on the horizon, taking with it every remaining trace of sunlight and leaving them to walk back home under the dim street lighting.

“I’m just saying that Cherry Garcia is the superior flavour.” James hummed as his arm found its way around Q’s waist while they walked side by side. “Cookie dough is overrated.”

“Take that back.” Q said, swinging the plastic bag he carried to playfully hit James with it.

“You’re going to spill the ice cream.” James warned him.

The young man chuckled and hit him once again, foregoing his usually serious and sarcastic demeanor in favour of a more relaxed and playful one.

“Q.” James groaned softly, only to chuckle a moment later and be joined by his lover while the two walked into the apartment, so distracted by their ice cream argument that they didn’t even notice the black Land Rover parked across the street.

While the Quartermaster unlocked the door, James leaned against the doorframe, watching him in amusement. “And you’re not even drunk.” He teased, taking the keys from his hands and forcing it into the lock before pulling up the sagging door and pushing it in to open.

“We should get that fixed.” Q murmured.

“Or move. We could always move and forget about it.” James hummed as he followed him in and closed the door behind them.

“We’re not moving, James.” Q groaned while he headed into the kitchen, pulling the ice cream tub out of the plastic bag and putting it inside the freezer. “I’m going to put pyjamas on so we can—”

Hearing a knock on the door, the two men frowned and looked at each other in confusion. James shrugged and quietly went “Are we expecting anyone?” only for Q to shake his head in response.

“Mail perhaps.”

“At this time?” Bond scoffed, making the young man roll his eyes.

“I don’t know then, James. Just open and find out for yourself.”

The Double-Oh narrowed his eyes and made his way back to the door, ready to tell whoever was out there that he wasn’t interested in talking about Jesus or whatever they wanted. He didn’t expect to get bashed in the face with the butt of a Heckler & Koch MP7 as soon as he opened. Much less to be shoved back by a man dressed entirely in a black tactical suit while another two breached the apartment.

“Q! Get out of here!”

It all happened in a matter of seconds, they were all in and before James could even hit the ground, with blood running down his eyebrow and into his eye, his Double-Oh instincts kicked in and he sprung up to fight off the attackers and defend his Quartermaster.

Q, who was in the kitchen, stepped out just in time to see how the three men broke in, with one of them falling behind when James jumped on him. He ducked just in time to dodge a burst of machine-gun fire that cracked through the backsplash tiles and left their kitchen cupboards like sieves.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” He hissed, making a run for the kitchen window, which was barely big enough for a person to fit through and spent most of the time open just a couple inches because it tended to get stuck if anyone tried to open it more than that. Q got up and used all of his strength to try and pull it open, but only a second later a bullet whizzed past his shoulder, shattering the window and sending shards of glass flying all over the place.

He flinched, letting go of the frame immediately. The slivers that were still attached to it made it impossible to climb out through the newly-made opening without cutting himself so he had to find another way out.

Q ducked behind the fridge’s open door, feeling how his heart hammered away in his chest while he looked beneath it to see a pair of black boots step slowly into the kitchen, clearly one of the men looking for him. He pressed his back to the cold confines of the fridge, pressing a hand to his mouth to keep himself perfectly quiet while he looked around for anything that could serve as a weapon.

He had just grabbed the bottle of Italian dressing and was about to smash it to glass whoever came too close to him when he saw a couple of their kitchen knives fly by, courtesy of James who had at last, managed to take down the first intruder and was already taking care of the other two, much to the Quartermaster's relief. The two knives that ended up driven into the kitchen cabinets provided Q with the perfect diversion to quickly sneak out of the kitchen without getting shot. He found himself in the middle of the living room, where James was trying to wrestle the weapon out of the hands of the second man while the third one, who was writhing in pain on the kitchen floor, struggled to pull their sashimi knife out of his shoulder.

Both the boffin and the agent’s gazes met across the room before James nodded towards the first body, which he had left by the door, and yelled “The gun, Q! Grab it!”

“Why don’t you grab it?” The young man retorted bitterly while he ran towards the dead man lying by his front door.

Bond just rolled his eyes, punching his attacker in the stomach and kneeing him in the face as he bent over. “I’m a little busy at the moment, Q.” He said, taking about half a second off to catch his breath before ripping the machine gun off the man’s hands and putting a round of bullets into his chest.

“I think he’s dead, James.” Q murmured as he approached him and looked over the countertop to see that not only had the third intruder left bloody handprints all over their kitchen, but he had also disappeared. “That’s not good…”

“You think so?” Bond looked over at him and raised an eyebrow, earning himself a jab between the ribs from Q that made him recoil.

“Stop it. It’s serious, 007.” His raven-haired boyfriend huffed before James reached over to brush his dark fringe away from his eyes. “Find him.”

James couldn’t help but smile to himself as he looked down to find a trail of blood leading to the guest room. He placed his finger back on the trigger —bracing himself for when he inevitably ran into the wounded intruder— and swiftly moved to clear the guest room.

Q lowered his own gun with a heavy sigh and took a look around at his apartment. “Because a body in the living room was exactly what this space needed…” He scoffed, shaking his head slowly. It was deadly silent in there, nothing except for the sound of the Double-Oh’s steps and—

“Ahh!” He yelped when he suddenly felt a hand gripping his ankle weakly and instinctively shot the man beneath him, shutting his eyes tightly.

“Q?” James rushed back to him, only to find that the Quartermaster kept pulling on the trigger even though there were no more bullets left in the magazine. “I think he’s dead, Q.” He said, smiling softly as he set his own gun on the kitchen counter to carefully remove Q’s from his hands. 

“Your humour is not appreciated right now, Bond.” The young man sighed, hurrying to step away from the man on the floor and into James’ open arms. “What happened to the other one?”

“I took care of him.” The blond whispered, picking fragments of glass from his lover’s curls. “We’re safe, don’t worry.”

Q nodded softly, truly noticing the bloodstain on James’ shirt as well as the extent of the wound on his face when he pulled away a moment later. “You’re hurt.”

“So are you.” Brushing it off, James nodded at the young man’s fingers, pulling his hands closer to be able to look at the small cuts on them, the result of the broken window. “We should call Tanner or Eve and—”

“—James?” Q interrupted, looking up at him with those expressive, oily green eyes that somehow always managed to convince the agent of anything.

“Hmm?”

“Can we just… wait until tomorrow? I’m tired, the last thing I want right now is a team from Six swarming in here. And in case you’ve forgotten, I am still owed a date.”

A smile tugged at James’ lips and he slowly began nodding in response. “Of course. I’ll… I’ll take care of them and then we can—”

“—Look at those wounds.” Q hurried to say before the agent could suggest anything else.

Bond rolled his eyes playfully. “Yes, we can do that and then we can see about that ice cream. If it even survived...”

“I’m going to be really mad if I find a bullet inside my ice cream.”

“And you weren’t mad before?” James teased as he began pulling away to start cleaning up.

Q made sure the cats were alright in the meantime and once he found the two felines hiding inside the wardrobe, he grabbed a broom and a dustpan to pick up all the glass on the kitchen floor so they could at least walk around the flat without having to worry too much about that.

“Done?” He asked when he heard James step back in after a while and lock the door behind him.

“Yep. They’re in the boot, but I’ll take care of them tomorrow, probably leave a surprise for the guys in Scotland Yard and MI5 to find.” The agent hummed, making his way into the kitchen and lazily throwing some paper towels on the stains that covered the floor.

The young Quartermaster narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, but couldn’t find it in him to be mad about his lack of protocol. He simply nodded and reached for his hand in silence, guiding him into the bathroom before he closed the door behind them, as if that could allow them more privacy in an empty apartment.

“Are you okay?” James asked softly, searching his eyes while his lover unbuttoned his bloodstained shirt to take a good look at the cut running across his chest. “It’s nothing, really.”

Q gave him a stern look and shook his head lightly, opening the cabinet to pull out their well-equipped first-aid kit before he washed his hands and pulled on a pair of gloves. “Sit.”

Obediently, Bond shrugged off his shirt and took a seat on the closed toilet lid, watching how Q dampened a piece of gauze with alcohol before he knelt down in front of him to carefully clean the wound.

“This definitely isn’t... my idea of you kneeling at my feet, Q.” James muttered in between pained grunts that he tried his best to muffle against his fist.

“I’m sure.” Q shook his head while the ghost of a smile illuminated his features and he threw away the used gauze. “This is going to need stitches.”

“Can you do it?”

“Lean back.” He replied, grabbing the lidocaine ointment and sutures from the kit. “I know this won’t help a lot, but—”

“—It’s something. Better than nothing.” James assured him, watching the way the young man’s fingers delicately applied the anaesthetic around the area he would be stitching, taking care not to cause him more pain than necessary. 

Q set the ointment aside after getting up to take a look at the rest of the injuries the agent had sustained while the lidocaine took effect and began numbing the area. He leaned in to take a look at the blond’s eyebrow, carefully wiping off the blood with a gauze in order to be able to see if the cut required stitches as well or if he could get away with using a couple of steri-strips to close it and spare James the pain.

He was just beginning to examine him when he felt his calloused hands on his hips, pulling him down to straddle the agent’s lap as if he had nothing better to do in that exact moment. “James…” He warned the blond softly while he kept working on his face.

Bond winced softly as Q used more alcohol to clean the wound. “I’m not doing anything.” He replied innocently, sliding his arms around the boffin’s slim waist.

“Stop moving, Bond.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re still moving.” Q scolded him, pulling a pack of steri-strips from the bag. He used them to carefully close the wound and other cuts that could need it before looking down at the one on his abdomen again, gently touching around the gash. “How does it feel? Think I could stitch it up now?”

“Fine.” The agent murmured dismissively, too focused on his Quartermaster's rosy lips. Just as he leaned in to kiss him, Q pressed a hand to his chest and gently pushed him back.

“Not now, James. Stay still and we’ll be done with this soon.” The young man said as he tore up a sterilized package which contained a suture. He met his eyes one last time before he began stitching him up, trying his best to ignore the way in which James’ grip tightened on his thigh every time the thin, curved needle pierced his skin only to reappear on the other side.

Only a few minutes later, he cut the thread and set the needle aside before taking a look at his work. “That doesn’t look half as bad as I expected it to look.” He hummed proudly, making James scoff softly.

“Thank god… I was starting to worry I’d end up looking like Frankenstein.”

“Frankenstein’s monster.” Q corrected him as he placed a dressing over the stitches.

“What?”

“It’s Frankenstein’s monster. Frankenstein is the doctor.” He continued, wrapping a bandage snugly around his chest.

The agent sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the young man and instead nodding slowly while he watched Q get rid of everything he had used and finally take off his gloves. His own fingers were covered in tiny paper-like cuts, adding to the multiple scratches and bruises that already littered the young man’s body. Bond silently reached for the tape that had yet to be put away and gingerly took the Quartermaster’s hands in his own.

“What—” Q cut himself off as he realised what James was doing and instead simply watched him while he took care of his hands. “Thank you.” He whispered when the man finished and got up.

“Of course.” James pressed a kiss to his forehead, wrapping his arm around his waist as he led him out of the bathroom. “Come on, let’s go change into something that isn’t stained.”

The young Quartermaster nodded tiredly, leaning into the blond’s muscular frame as they walked into their bedroom, which thankfully had remained untouched during the attack. Seeing as the first rays of dim morning light were starting to come in through the windows and knowing he would have to leave later to go take care of their friends in the car’s boot, James simply pulled on a pair of jeans and a fresh white shirt over his bandages. 

Q, on the other side, slipped on his warmest jumper, the first pair of socks he could find —which didn’t even match— and his oldest and most comfortable sweatpants. Clearly an outfit that screamed ‘I have no intention of going on another date for the next year. Beat it, Bond.’

James took one look at him and chuckled softly, reaching for his hand.

“What?” Q asked in confusion, following him out of the room.

“Nothing, let’s go get that ice cream once and for all. I don’t think I’ve ever been through so much trouble for some petty cookie dough ice cream.”

“Did you just call my ice cream petty, 007?”

“I would never, Quartermaster.” James smirked as they entered the kitchen and opened the freezer to look for the aforementioned tub of ice cream. He turned around to find that Q was sitting on top of the counter, waiting for him with two spoons in his hands. “Thank you.” He hummed as he exchanged the ice cream for a spoon and leaned back against the counter next to him.

The young man opened it and dug in immediately, moaning obscenely as the ice cream melted in his mouth, leaving behind that incredible taste he had been looking forward to for so long.

Bond chuckled, watching Q grab another spoonful while he toyed with his own spoon. “You know, I was thinking—”

Q stopped him immediately, shoving that very same spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. “—Nope. No thinking for you, just eating.”

James couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled the spoon out of his mouth and licked it clean. “You win. I’ll stop on one condition.”

Regarding him suspiciously, the Quartermaster’s eyebrow rose slowly. “And what’s that?”

“That you kiss me.”

“Deal.”

[Art by Ksan](https://ksansart.tumblr.com/post/644124231885619200/if-at-first-you-dont-succeed-by)


End file.
